Korsak knew the scars bothered Jane.
He knew it the day he realized she had changed how she shook hands when introducing herself to witnesses at interviews. How she had quietly gone somewhere in those weeks after Hoyt from her easy slightly sassy Rizzoli grip to something he had first thought was almost rookie hesitant or tentative before he understand suddenly in the middle of the conversation that it was actually something more like what he had seen in retiring cops. Something restrained, controlled, grimly careful.
He knew it the morning he realized she had changed how she held her coffee when she took a break at her desk during those long back to back shifts. How she had quietly gone somewhere in those months after Hoyt from her eager cupping of a steaming pleasantly hot precinct mug in both hands to help keep her awake, to actually using the handle she'd always complained to him before was too small to feel comfortable for her long fingers.
He knew it the shift he realized she had changed how she walked up to them at that crime scene that particularly Boston bitter chill day. How she had quietly gone somewhere in the passing seasons after Hoyt from her cheerfully wild natural Italian habits of gesturing as she talked while her breath came white, to now shoving her hands protectively deep into her coat pockets and growling angrily at the icy weather. He couldn't shake the memory of seeing her alone in the car afterwards, hastily dry gulping Tylenol while she held shaking cold pained hands to heater vents, gritting her teeth. And how she started carrying those black insulated leather beat cop search gloves everywhere with her.
And Korsak knew it the conversation he realized she had changed how she saw her own hands. How she had quietly gone in the year after Hoyt from her rasp voiced laughing self teasing jokes of before about needing one of Maura's fancy French manicures for her next birthday to shutting down the subject hard and tightly when Angela brought it back up again. He remembered after her mother left frustrated and more than a little hurt, the look Jane had given her hands before she went ferociously back to work.
He didn't want to admit it but he hated knowing it every single time.
He hated it because it reminded him every single time of Hoyt.
He hated it because it reminded him every single time that he had almost been too late.
And Korsak hated it most of all because it reminded him every single time that he had failed to keep her safe like he had promised himself and her mother when they'd first been made partners.
For a long while he had been quietly and deeply afraid that the scars Hoyt had given Jane would drive them apart permanently.
Because he kept remembering that day and she couldn't forget.
Because both of them knew that no matter how they tried to do otherwise, they saw themselves and each other differently since she had gotten those scars.
And it made both of them feel ashamed.
Even though they both knew in the logical rational part of their brains that neither one of them were responsible for what had happened.
Or what almost happened.
He knew it was because Hoyt had made them feel vulnerable. Made them feel in the horror of that moment like the shock eyed terrified victims that filled their case files.
Instead of the clear eyed fearless detectives who were supposed to be doing all the protecting.
Korsak knew that was why he had been so angry with Frost coming in.
It had felt to him as if that monster Hoyt had really won that day.
That his scalpels had cut too deep.
Because Korsak knew Jane's scars bothered him, too.